Vegas

So two weeks ago I got to go to Las Vegas for work. I know, my job is cool. No one believed that I was really going there for work, so I had to take pictures of me working and email them to friends to prove I was working. But don’t get me wrong, after 6 PM when work was done, the four of us on the team all headed back to the Strip, where we were staying, and partied it up Vegas style.

I found that with a few drinks while waiting for a table, our often stingy boss will become an expense account’s worst nightmare once we sit down to dinner. We would regularly hear a lecture in the rental car ride back to our hotel before dinner about keeping it reasonable and perhaps just ordered a side salad as an entrée and getting tap water instead of a Cosmo. But within a few hours and few rum and cokes the great words of “Order up, guys!” would be slurred by our great boss, and suddenly my co-worker (who I named “Heffe”) was ordered the fillet mignon and I got a sashimi yellowtail jalapeño appetizer, the 3 amigos mini burgers with caramelized onions and garlic fries, two mojitos, followed by an appley scrumptious dessert. Our meals was random, expensive, and so Vegas.

After that our boss teetered off to bed and Heffe and our third fun member (who I named “Little P) headed off to the blackjack tables. It should be noted that I gave my co-workers these nicknames over long island iced teas at 1 AM the Sunday we flew into Vegas. The three of us were hungry and our boss had already gone to bed, so instead of intelligently getting a good night’s sleep before a long first day of work, we headed to one of the many 24 hour restaurants in our hotel and proceeded to bond and delve into each others personal lives. We learned that the three of us represented three different phases of life: Heffe was married with three kids, Little P was newly married, and I was just dating. Heffe ordered steak n eggs, Little P had a BBQ chicken pizza, and I had French onion soup. We were different in every respect, but it couldn’t have been funner.

As it rolled around to two in the morning, we slipped into the weird casino syndrome where you can’t tell what time it is. People around us were having beers, smoking, and still gambling like it was early in the evening. The same was true when we all emerged from our hotel room the next morning to meet the rental car at 7 AM. Who has a beer at a slot machine at 7 AM?

Our boss was well rested and perky and we were hiding behind sunglasses and large coffees on the ride to work. Something about being away on business turns anyone under 40 into a crazy partier who feels like they have to take advantage of having time away. Not that I’m complaining.

Every night ended up like this first one. The four of us would have dinner and our boss would have a mini heart attack when the bill came, then he would excuse himself and go to bed. Then Heffe, Little P and I would paint the town red. Unfortunately we found that early in the week, not many clubs or trendy bars are open and the show “Thunder Down Under” was not expensable under company policy.

I taught Heffe to play blackjack. Apparently he had spent his best card playing days changing diapers and not learning how to gamble. What a wimp. He soon learned that smiling nicely at the dealer was not an indication that you wanted another card, and neither was saying “Can I have another card, please?” I was like “Listen Heffe, there are no words exchange at a blackjack table, no civility or politeness. Just do your hand motions, order a beer and try not to piss off the dealer.” I ended up winning $75 in an hour, and decided that may be more then I’m being paid to work and thought my time would be better spend at the tables. At that point, Little P took away my vodka tonic and we all retired to our hotel rooms.

All in all in was a fun time. I went home with some extra spending money and only a few embarrassing stories, which all will remain in Vegas, along with my cell phone charger. Dammit!